


All the Sinners, Saints

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Sequence, M/M, Seven Deadly Sins, seven cardinal virtues, seven contrary virtues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-24
Updated: 2003-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every cop is a criminal, and all the sinners, saints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nestra's Seven Deadly Sins/Seven Virtues drabble challenge. I went over a little bit on one. Oops. Thanks to DD, Bethy and Pru for editing and general cheerleading. Thanks as always to Jen, Pete/Melissa, Dot, and Meg for everything. Summary from "Sympathy for the Devil" by Jagger and Richards. Duh. Oh! And one line is lifted directly from PoA.

_Every cop is a criminal_

1\. Anger

Remus doesn't cry when Dumbledore gives him the news. He nods, tries to find solid ground as the world shifts beneath him.

The rage is stronger than it's ever been before; the hate is new. He puts his fist through the window and doesn't even feel it. He breaks every bit of glass in the flat, trails blood along the hardwood floor from feet cut to ribbons.

He sets fire to Sirius's belongings, but even that doesn't satisfy. He overturns the bed they shared, shredding pillows and sheets. When there's nothing left to break, he stands amid the devastation, unassuaged.

*

2\. Gluttony

They are celebrating in the streets, loud and raucous. He walks among them like a ghost. When he enters the Leaky Cauldron, conversation stops. He feels eyes upon him, hears their whispered conversations.

He pushes his way out and heads into Muggle London, finding a pub where no one knows him.

After the sixth scotch, his face is numb; he can no longer feel phantom kisses on his skin.

He stumbles out onto the street and falls to his knees, retching until there's nothing left inside but the hard knot of hate and desperation he fears will never go away.

*

3\. Lust

The man has long, black hair. They always do.

That's all Remus needs.

A subtle nod, the brush of a hand against his back, and they're in a stall in the men's room, the pounding music in the club outside muted by the tiled walls.

He closes his eyes, leans his head against the wall and thrusts into the stranger's mouth, twining his hands in the man's hair. It feels wrong, coarse and dry where it should be soft and sleek.

But the man has a skilled tongue; Remus forgets for a few blissful seconds that he is not Sirius.

*

4\. Sloth

Remus lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room reeks of semen, sweat and curry. He's made a few half-hearted repairs, but can't be bothered to clean up the mess.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

He hasn't worked in weeks; when the rent is due, he won't pay it. There's packing for the move he knows is coming, but he can't be arsed to do that, either. He drifts through the days, spends the nights drunk, fucking strangers.

He is tired of worrying, thinking, planning, hoping.

Remus lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. Everything that matters is gone.

*

5\. Envy

It feels strange sometimes, that he's managed to put his life together. Sometimes he believes that's all life is -- shattering, then shoddy repairs.

He's doing well; he tutors Muggle children in history and literature, and pretends not to want what they have: well-kept house, well-made clothes. Someone waiting at home with kisses and soft touches.

He can taste it sometimes, hot and sour on his tongue. It's a familiar stabbing pain, wanting what he cannot have. He's always wanted more than what life has allowed, and always pretended not to.

And he's always had a high tolerance for pain.

*

6\. Avarice

On this rare occasion of a payday, Remus stands in Flourish and Blotts, money burning a hole in his wallet. He could pay rent or buy food, but what he really wants is books.

Books surround him, make his mouth water, his fingers itch to touch. To actually *own* instead of borrowing, to be able to highlight paragraphs and turn down pages.

His arms ache under the load when he's done. Knowing he cannot afford them all, his mind spins with plans.

When he arrives home, he puts his purchases away, and pulls three more miniaturized books from his pocket.

*

7\. Pride

He says no the first four times Dumbledore asks. He should do it, repay the man for his trust over the years, but he won't.

It should be an honor to be asked, but he's heard the stories; no one else wants the job. He's the bottom of the barrel. He's spent his life being unwanted; he's tired of it. Even though he needs the job (covets it madly, if he's honest), he won't be the last resort, Dumbledore's charity case, his tame werewolf.

Then he reads _The Daily Prophet_ one August morning, and knows his decision has been made.

~*~

_And all the sinners, saints_

1\. Fortitude

He is innocent.

Sirius sings it to himself sometimes; sometimes it's a prayer to vague deities he's never believed in.

He no longer knows what day, month, year it is, but he knows he's innocent; the dementors cannot take that from him.

When he sees Wormtail's picture, he's able to keep his tone conversational, but he's already planning his escape. He will protect Harry, avenge James and Lily, beg Remus for forgiveness.

Escaping is easier than expected, and soon he's on his way. He's innocent, he's survived the worst Azkaban offers, and he'll never give up until Wormtail is dead.

*

2\. Justice

He's free. Harry believes in him. Remus forgives him. Dumbledore trusts him.

He writes Harry; there's so much to say, but he writes only impersonal things. It's best that way. He doesn't want to overwhelm the kid.

He feels worse about Ron's leg than about trying to kill Wormtail, which ought to worry him, but doesn't.

A tiny owl flutters about, annoying Buckbeak. It's eager for the job; he's unsure it can manage the trip.

It occurs to him as finishes writing. He asks. The owl hoots in agreement. Sirius edits the letter again.

"I thought your friend Ron might like to keep this owl, as it's my fault he no longer has a rat."

*

3\. Faith

Sirius believes in Dumbledore. He believes in his own ability to make a difference. It's the only reason he leaves Harry.

Sirius makes his case to Mundungus, Arabella and others who may doubt his innocence, but believe in Dumbledore, and so extend their trust to him.

He accepts that Harry's Muggle relatives offer protection he cannot, because Dumbledore says so.

This time, they won't be destroyed by his suspicions, because he has finally learned to trust his instincts. He won't be fooled again. Dumbledore, Remus, the Order -- these people will defeat Voldemort. He will help them or die trying.

*

4\. Hope

His stomach flutters as he approaches the flat. He thinks he might boot as he rings the bell marked 'R. Lupin.'

The door opens and he's pulled inside, into a warm embrace he's dreamed of for a year, but hasn't really expected.

They talk through the night, though he can't remember what about, and then after an awkward moment, he's in bed with Remus. They huddle together with vague familiarity, and his anxiety returns. Remus presses a warm kiss to his forehead, and he can identify that fluttery feeling.

It is hope, and he has reclaimed it at long last.

*

5\. Charity

"Apparently, the house is mine. I've offered it to Dumbledore as headquarters for the Order."

"Good idea."

"I'll be moving in next week."

"What?"

"One of the family needs to live there. Andromeda has kids to look after; the rest are Death Eaters. That leaves me."

"You hate that place, Sirius. You'll be miserable there."

"Yeah, but--"

"Please don't do this."

"If it helps the Order, helps Harry--"

"You'll be giving up what little freedom you have."

"I know."

"I'll start packing."

"Remus, you don't--"

"I know."

"Maybe Harry can live with us."

"That'd be nice."

"Yeah."

*

6\. Prudence

He lies on the grass in the garden. This is the only fresh air he gets, the only sunlight he feels on his too-pale skin. He itches to be free and knows he can't leave.

The back door slams. He doesn't have to look to know who it is. Remus blocks out the sun for a moment, hair gilded to gleaming honey before he drops to the ground next to Sirius.

"We're going tonight," Remus says.

Sirius nods. He won't be going with them. He knows the danger Harry's in, won't put him in more.

"I'll be waiting. Good luck."

*

7\. Temperance

Sirius hates when Remus is away. The house is empty, but never quiet.

He hates that he's reduced to this pathetic shadow existence. He's never been good at waiting, has had a surfeit of it.

He pours himself a drink, contemplates another. The bottle of firewhisky mocks him, Old Ogden himself winking and leering on the label. He walks away; he's too easily tempted, yet too stubborn to give in.

He listens to the wireless, does the crossword, fidgets through the house like a ghost. He curls up in bed, reading Remus's book.

When Remus comes home, Sirius kisses him.

*

_Use all your well-learned politesse / Or I'll lay your soul to waste_

1\. Humility

Sirius is half-starved and exhausted when he reaches Lupin's. He transforms as Remus shuts the door, then pulls him into an embrace as warm as it is unexpected.

"Remus," he says hoarsely. "Voldemort--"

"Is back. Dumbledore owled." Remus takes his hand, leads him to the kitchen. The table is set; food is waiting. "You look terrible." But it's said with affection, and Remus keeps hold of his hand.

Sirius stares, overwhelmed. "I don't--" _deserve this_ "know what to say."

"That's fine. It's rude to talk while eating."

He blinks to clear his vision, and returns the pressure of Remus's fingers.

*

2\. Kindness

"Remus, I can't accept--"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sirius. Of course you can."

So he does. He, who's never accepted charity from anyone, allows Remus to feed and clothe him.

He lets Remus care for him; the cold that's leached into his bones begins to dissipate. He wears the robes Remus bought him, eats the food Remus prepares.

At night, he transforms into Padfoot and curls up across the foot of the bed. Keeping Remus's feet warm is the least he can do in return.

Later, he realizes that just accepting Remus's kindness is the best payment he can offer.

*

3\. Patience

Molly's words echo in his brain. He wants to rail at her, to rage against this half-life he's forced to live, but he bites his tongue.

He's glad Harry has her and her family, Hermione, Remus and the Order. But he wants to do so much more than Dumbledore allows.

He sits at the table and she plunks a plate down in front of him; she's made a regular fry up for breakfast. He appreciates it, appreciates all the work she's done in the house, and manages to smile.

"Thanks, Molly."

She sniffs, thawing slightly. "Of course."

It's a start.

*

4\. Diligence

Molly looks surprised when he joins them in the drawing room, but says nothing. He was up all night with Remus, snatching a couple hours sleep once Remus was settled in bed. Full moon mornings are never easy, though he can't complain. At least they're together.

The last thing he wants to do is help rid the drawing room of doxies, but it's his house, his responsibility. He wouldn't ask her or the kids to do anything he's not prepared to do himself.

He grins at Molly. "All in a day's work, " he says, grabbing a bottle of Doxycide.

*

5\. Generosity

It's easy enough to get money out of his Gringott's vault. Dumbledore is the executor. He's surprised the Ministry didn't seize his accounts, but exceedingly glad they didn't.

Harry doesn't need anything from him but his presence, though he wants to shower the boy with gifts.

Remus won't accept money, but Sirius writes a will, leaves the lot to him. Never says a word, because why talk about it? It will happen sooner or later; he doesn't want to live if Moony goes first, and he doesn't plan to die soon.

Hermione's parents are well off and Tonks has her own share of the Black fortune.

That leaves the Weasleys. Also proud, but perhaps--

He catches Molly on her way out, presses coins into her hands. "Here," he says roughly. "For Ron's broom."

It's not enough, but she won't take more.

She opens her mouth, startled, but he walks away before she can say thank you.

*

6\. Chastity

Sirius cradles Remus to his chest, amazed as always at the strength in his fragile-seeming body.

Snape provides Remus with the Wolfsbane Potion, so the ordeal isn't as onerous as it once was, but it still leaves Remus pain-wracked and exhausted in the morning.

Remus looks younger when he's sleeping; the perpetual furrow between his brows smoothes out and the tightness around his mouth eases. Sirius presses a kiss to Remus's forehead, tightens his hold just a little bit.

Remus's eyes flutter open, squinting against the dim light filtering in through a crack in the heavy drapes.

"Sirius?"

"Go back to sleep, Moony."

He would be content to lie like this, Remus drowsing in his arms, for the rest of his life.

*

7\. Abstinence

The chocolate bar is mocking him. There's no doubt in his mind. Though he could be going insane. It would be horribly fitting if Sirius Black survived Azkaban only to lose his mind because of a chocolate bar.

He wants it desperately, can taste its milky smoothness on his tongue.

But it's the last chocolate bar in the house, and he's fairly certain Remus will want it when he wakes. Remus always wants chocolate after the moon.

It wouldn't be a big deal if Sirius could go out to the newsagent and buy more, but the whole wanted criminal thing nixes that, and Kreacher can't be trusted to leave the house.

Sirius sighs and shoves the candy back into the drawer.

*

end


	2. Hungry Like the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an outtake from the drabble sequence.

He remembers the moon spilling silver on the ground, the trees casting shadows in which to play, the air cool and fresh in his fur. He remembers running all night, pack at his side.

He's caged now, no room to run, no pack. He flings himself at the door, which rattles but doesn't give. He whines and howls, angry, hungry for blood, for the feel of the earth beneath his paws. He turns his anger on the only available target.

Remus wakes in a pool of his own blood, his left shoulder a grisly mass of shredded muscle.

Some days, he wishes he didn't wake at all.

end


End file.
